


Better Be Good to Me

by TheBasilRathbone



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, David Rose Deserves Nice Things, Falling In Love, Family, Friends to Lovers, Healing, Healthy Communication, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Patrick Brewer Deserves Nice Things, Therapy, brief mentions of past abuse, canon adjacent, discussions of past relationships, meet the parents, past unhealthy relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBasilRathbone/pseuds/TheBasilRathbone
Summary: David was not Patrick's first.Patrick really, really wishes he had been.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 23
Kudos: 212





	Better Be Good to Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a Tina Turner song. Because obviously.

When he makes it into the store (only slightly later than he had originally indicated), Patrick is already far too chipper for this time of the day, showing off their new zero waste toiletries line to a middle-aged couple he doesn’t recognize.

Any hopes he may have had to slip into the back and swallow half of his coffee in one go, however, are dashed when Patrick immediately perks up at the sight of him. “Oh! And this is David Rose, my business partner and the creative genius behind our little endeavour.”

The one thing he hates about working in customer service is, in fact, the customers. But he plasters on as big of a smile as he can muster after a night of drinking with Stevie. “Hi, David Rose,” he simpers, dragging the tray of lip balm from where it had migrated back to its place by the register. “And while I will take the ‘creative genius’ compliment, I’ll have you know that our sales were very good last quarter, so I’m not sure how ‘little’ our-“

“David, these are my parents, Clint and Marcy Brewer.”

“Oh! My god, hi.” Fuck. Meeting the parents was never his strong suit, even if they were just the parents of his business partner. He pushes the Balenciaga sunglasses to the top of his head and abandons his bag at the counter to greet them, sticking out his hand. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Patrick talks about you all the time.”

“We’ve heard so much about you,” Marcy says, shaking his hand first. She’s pleasant-looking, but her smile is a bit forced. Clint is equally polite and unenthusiastic. He doesn’t blame them, really. David knows all too well what small town folk are used to, and honestly his whole vibe can be kind of a lot.

“All good, I hope,” he says with a laugh that trails off quickly when they don’t laugh with him. “I’m...uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were visiting, Patrick didn’t mention...”

“It was a surprise,” Patrick cuts in, looking between his parents fondly. David can immediately see him in both of his parents - in Marcy’s compact frame and smile, in Clint’s bright, soft eyes and calm presence. “Now that you’re here, I thought I could maybe take them to lunch?”

“Yes! Of course,” he says brightly. “Take the rest of the day, show them around town. You should have texted me, I could have come in sooner.”

“I did, actually.” Patrick’s expression is teasing, and his smirk only intensifies when David bites his teeth together in a guilty smile.

“Mm, which I did not get because I just remembered that my phone is dead.” Sheepishly, he swept them all towards the front door, eager to get Patrick’s disapproving parents out of the store before he could convince them that he was more incompetent than they already seemed to think. “All the more reason to take the rest of the day. Show them the sights.”

“Ah yes, the sights. Are you sure one afternoon will be enough, because we do have three whole blocks of businesses to cover, and they might be too tired for the grande finale of Bob’s Garage.”

“‘Kay.” He waved his hand in Patrick’s face, too hungover for his smug little smile. “I’m being nice and agreeing to give you some time to catch up with your lovely parents.”

“That’s true. Thank you, David,” Patrick declares loudly, backing away from him and towards the front door, that irritatingly amused smile on his face.

“And two, clearly the grande finale is the flower garden they just planted in front of town hall. West to East, Patrick, come on.”

“I forgot about the flower garden. Do you think they’ll charge admission to walk past the two rose bushes? Should I stop at an ATM, or...?”

With one last crooked smile thrown over his shoulder, Patrick disappeared out the door.

“Unbelievable.”

* * *

Redemption came thirty minutes before closing, when Patrick and his parents reappeared with the chime of the door’s bell right when he was packing up a large gift basket that he had managed to compile for a customer. This time, Patrick’s parents get to watch him wave off a customer who staggers out of the store with the weight of his upselling in-hand.

“That guy looked like he just bought half our stock,” Patrick commented when the door swings shut.

“Mm, well, he came in here looking for a scarf for his wife’s birthday with the certainty of a straight man who has bought her a scarf for every birthday she’s ever had but hasn’t noticed that she never wears them, so I’d say for the sake of his marriage, that was money well spent.”

Both Clint and Marcy laugh openly at that, startling him. Their cool, detached demeanours have melted at some point since this morning, and David is left to wonder if it was the meal. Twyla’s food certainly wasn’t soulful, but if Patrick’s parents got as hangry as he did, then it must have done the trick.

“What have you been up to today?” David asks, changing tones from his usual barbed banter with Patrick to something lighter.

“Oh, you know. Lunch, a tour of the town. And when we were done that in the first hour, we just wandered around and caught up,” Patrick grins. He’s glowing, chest puffed out with pride as he shows his parents his new life, his successful business. A cute little button face, Alexis would say. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Well, let’s see. My parents are getting ready to move to L.A. and my sister is packing up for New York. Which means that Alexis will be sulking about not having enough luggage space to bring everything with her and my mother will be screeching about not having enough time to style and maintain the rotation of wigs she keeps before they get packed into a temperature-controlled shipping container. So." 

All three Brewers give a little half-smile that melts his heart just a bit.

“Well, David, if you think you can manage to tear yourself away, we thought maybe you’d like to join us for dinner.”

“Is this dinner where you tell me that you’d like to adopt me, because you seem very nice and normal and I really would like to avoid giving yet another blowout to a wig, if I can.”

Marcy grins, and Clint chuckles outright.It’s a sound so similar to Patrick’s that it makes David feel like he’s accomplished something, when he can bring it out of him. “How about just dinner tonight and we’ll go from there?”

“I’m good with dinner,” he says with a sheepish smile.

* * *

“Could you stop bouncing your leg like that? You’re making me dizzy.”

Patrick shot him an unimpressed glare from the driver’s seat, but the nervous tick of his leg stilled. “Yeah. Just-“

“Nervous, I got that. Why? Your parents were here six months ago. Things seemed to go well.”

He watches as Patrick’s fingers clench tight around the steering wheel. “They did. They are. Going well. I’ve spoken to them more in the last few months than in the last two years. I just haven’t been back to my hometown since I moved to Schitt’s Creek.”

He doesn’t offer up any more, and David manages not to roll his eyes. When Patrick was in a mood, getting answers out of him was like pulling teeth. “We don’t have to go. We can just visit Marissa’s farm, talk about signing a vendor agreement with her over dinner, and get a room at a motel or something nearby.”

Patrick shakes his head, shoulders tense. “We already told my parents we would stay at their place. We’re in the area, I don’t want them to think that I’m avoiding them. I’m not avoiding them.”

“Did something…happen? I know you said you moved because you needed a fresh start, but…”

Patrick huffs. “David, I don’t think this is the best time to talk about this.”

“You’re obviously uncomfortable.”

“I’m not!” Patrick evidently can tell the words are too loud and harsh even to his own ears. His voice drops. “I’m not…uncomfortable. There’s just people from my past that I’d rather avoid.”

“Mmkay, basically everyone I’ve ever met until I turned 27 is someone from my past I’d rather avoid. I stayed in Schitt’s Creek by myself for a reason.”

Finally, for the first time in nearly three hours, the corner of Patrick’s mouth quirks upwards. “Here I thought you stayed for the store and my charming companionship.”

“It’s cute that you think that you can compete with a New York bagel, but that’s besides the point. I’m just saying that I understand, and I’m sure your parents would understand, if you wanted to skip the little hometown visit and just….meet them for breakfast or something.”

Of course Patrick shakes his head. He’s promised his parents, and he has the type of relationship with them that he feels a sense of obligation to keep his word. David has no idea what that’s like, but he’s met Marcy and Clint, spoken to them countless times over the phone since they’ve visited, and he can see why Patrick has a sense of loyalty towards them. “I can’t avoid them. I don’t want to avoid them, not really. I…okay. I was seeing somebody. Before I moved away. My parents didn’t approve. I was barely speaking to them by the time the relationship ended, and I just…needed to get away.”

He couldn’t imagine Marcy and Clint taking such a disliking to anybody Patrick associated with that they basically froze him out. He had seen them around Patrick, had seen how they looked at him as he showed them around the store. They adored him. “That’s awful, I’m sorry. I…is everything okay now?”

He shrugs, tense. “As okay as it can be. I…came out. Starting dating a guy, I mean. And they…got weird.”

David winces. Patrick had never told him, in so many words, that he was gay. Honestly, his general vibe was pretty heterosexual. But over time, the teasing turned flirtatious, the looks between them lingered. “They were upset that you were gay?”

“They said they weren’t. That it wasn’t about me being gay, but they were always…I was dating my high school sweetheart for years. And they loved her. And when I brought my first, my only, boyfriend home, they…didn’t like him. It was hard to take that any other way. But then again…he turned out to not be such a nice guy, in the end.”

He’s surprised at how much his heart aches at the thought. He’d had a bit of a thing for Patrick since they’d started working together (pining pathetically, as Stevie would call it), and the idea that someone might have treated him the way that David had been treated by some of his ex-boyfriends…? David was fucked up, sure, but Patrick was kind. Funny. Loyal. Far too sweet for his own good. It seemed something of a crime, that this ex hadn’t treated him as he should have. Hadn’t treated him like David would treat him, if they were ever to break this awkward 'just friends' barrier between them.

But best not to go there.

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. You’re…taking a big step, going back there. I’m glad you and your parents are on better terms, now.”

“Me too. I’m not thrilled about it, going back. But I can’t avoid it forever. At least you’re coming with me.” It sits between them, that short sentence. Too sentimental, too kind. They’ve been dancing around one another for months, years, or David feels as though they have. They avoid these kinds of confessions, perhaps too afraid of where they’ll end up if they start being honest. Patrick adds, “that way I can use you to deflect the attention off of myself.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I blend right into small towns. Very low-key.”

Patrick’s eyes drift from the road to him, eyeing his sweater (a black Givenchy with a graphic scorpion curled around the neckline). He smiles.

“Okay, David.”

* * *

For all of Patrick’s tension and concern, Marcy and Clint seem absolutely thrilled to have him home.

They throw their arms around him, then around David, and then let them deposit their bags in their rooms (Patrick in his old bedroom, David in the guest room downstairs) before corralling them both into the living room, plying them with tea and cookies and butter tarts and lemon squares in such a display of small-town domesticity that David can’t imagine ever wanting to leave.

Every flat surface is covered with Patrick memorabilia. Photos of him as a baby, as a toddler. Little League portraits of Patrick with missing front teeth and curly (dear god) hair. On the wall is his university graduation photo and what looks to be a high school prom picture, Patrick stiff and awkward with his arms around a cute redhead. He makes a point of loudly cooing over the pictures just to see Patrick scowl. 

Marcy and Clint ask about the store, ask about David’s family, about Patrick’s new apartment, both of them quick to laugh and smile and generally create an easy, welcoming atmosphere. Even Patrick seems at ease, so much so that the tension from the car ride here is almost entirely forgotten.

David even, accidentally, blurts out a brief mention of a past boyfriend that he'd 'dated' for a month or so in New York and then immediately clams up, cursing himself for letting his guard down. But Marcy and Clint don’t flinch, don’t clutch their pearls, don’t falter from their friendly demeanour for a moment at the idea of David not being entirely straight. While it had been a very long time since anyone who encountered him mistook him for heterosexual, he was still expecting at the very least a disapproving eye twitch. But nothing. They laugh at his stories say they hoped his next boyfriend was nicer. 

By the time they have to leave to meet Marissa at the farm, David is stuffed full of sweets and in a fantastic mood, and Patrick seems in equally bright spirits.

And the day only improves, because Marissa seems thrilled to see them, and just as eager to sign on as a vendor as they are to have her. Her production scale is far bigger than anywhere near Schitt’s Creek, and an exclusive contract could supply the entire Western division of the motel chain, which would save them an enormous amount of time having find other vendors who could supplement the supply. 

David is deeply invested in a conversation about the antioxidant properties of matcha when the familiar trill of Patrick’s cell phone interrupts. Patrick smiles apologetically, but when he digs the phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen, his face visibly pales (no easy task, his natural hue seems to be almost-ghostly already).

“Alright?” David asks, and Patrick just nods robotically, excusing himself to take the call. He isn't gone long, but he's quiet and contemplative when he returns, leaving David to carry the brunt of the business talk. 

Even without much contribution, David and Marissa agree to meet at a nearby restaurant to talk in more detail about the vendor contract. David's legs ache from shakily trodding around the uneven farmland after the hours-long tour, and he eagerly climbs into the car, though Patrick remains tight-lipped and tense.

“Who was on the phone?”

His grip tightens, just minutely, around the steering wheel. “Uh…my ex. It was my ex.”

“Oh. The…high school sweetheart?”

Patrick shakes his head, one short, jerky movement. “No. Not Rachel. Um…Ethan.”

“Ah.” The stilted conversation coming from Patrick was starting to drive him crazy, but he didn’t really seem to be in the headspace to be swayed by David’s usual attempts to start a snarky back-and-forth to draw him out of a bad mood. And so he waits for nearly four whole minutes, eyes trained on the clock the whole time, before Patrick finally speaks again.

“He heard I was back in town. He…asked me to dinner.”

Dinner. Tonight. “Oh. Are you…going to go?”

“Marissa…”

He hates to encourage it, but Patrick is giving off some very strange vibes, and David isn’t sure if he’s looking for permission to go or for permission to turn Ethan down. “I’m sure…I mean, if you wanted to go see him, Marissa and I can chat over dinner. It’s totally fine, we sent her the contract in advance to look at, so it will just be answering some questions and rapport-building. I’ll catch you up on anything you missed afterwards.”

“You sure?”

He’s not sure, and Patrick isn’t giving any indication of whether he’s relieved or hoping David changes his mind and asks him to come.

“Yeah,” David says at last. “Just drop me off at the restaurant on your way. I’ll walk back to your parents’ place after, it’s not far.”

As David climbs out of the car and watches Patrick drive off to go have dinner with his “not a nice guy” ex, he tries to repress the unexpected mix of worry and jealousy that churns in his gut.

* * *

It’s Patrick that catches his eye. After so long working together in an enclosed space every day and more often than not grabbing dinner together or meeting Stevie for drinks, he intimately knows the shape of him, even out of the corner of his eye.

He’s been trudging home after a successful dinner with Marissa, hoping he can navigate the streets well enough to make it back to the Brewers’, when his attention is pulled.

They’re there, in the alley alongside a restaurant, speaking in hushed voices, thought their body language was tense. He watches a taller man, presumably Ethan, stalk away and then turn back, poking a finger into Patrick’s chest.

And then, just as Patrick reaches out placatingly, Ethan springs forward, seizing Patrick’s jaw in a vice-like grip and thrusting his head back against the brick wall behind him. Patrick clutches desperately at his wrists, trying to pry him off, though Ethan’s grip is so tight his fingertips are white.

“What the fuck are you doing?” David isn’t the confrontational type, but the words come out before he can stop them. Both sets of eyes snap towards him, and David resists the urge to turn on his heel and flee. As meaty and poorly-dressed as Patrick’s date is, he knows for a fact the guy could beat him to a pulp, but he tries not to let his own apprehension show.

Ethan releases him and they stagger apart, Patrick sinking against the wall behind him and gasping. He fixes his gaze to the pavement, unwilling to meet David’s eye, which is really fucking annoying when David is attempting to extract him from whatever the hell is going on here.

“David,” Patrick stammers out, seeming to oscillate between fear and shame and uncertainty. “I’m...I’ll meet you back at the house, yeah?”

“Um...no. No, actually. I think I’ll walk you home.”

“David...” Patrick risks a glance at Ethan, who is puffed up and panting, enraged like he’s trying to emulate every stereotypical meathead David has ever had the displeasure of knowing.

“Christ, we’re just having a bit of an argument, alright? Can you give us some fucking privacy?”

Patrick winces at the tone. Shrinks away, just minutely.

Afraid.

“Mmkay, I’m not leaving my friend with his violent asshole of an ex. But if you have an issue with that and want to cause a little scene,I will be super enthusiastic to give the police a call and explain to them in graphic detail why I _will_ be pressing charges against you for assault if you so much as lay a hand on me or on Patrick. And I promise you they’re going to take one look at me and know I sure as hell wasn’t winning in a fight against you, so good luck trying to lie your way out of that one. And I don’t think you want to spend the rest of your evening at the police station. So, Patrick? Time to go?”

He watches Ethan clench and unclench his fat hands, but he does nothing as Patrick slinks away, quickly walking past him and then David, head pointedly bowed down.

Despite Patrick’s shorter legs, he has to jog to catch up. If Patrick had been tense earlier, he’s downright rigid now, his teeth clenched and jaw red as he climbed into the car. They make the journey back to the house in total silence.

* * *

Patrick disappears upstairs the moment they step foot inside, leaving David alone in the dark entryway, weighed down by the guilt of his silence. He should have said something to Patrick, should have offered some semblance of comfort or reassurance, but he’d been uneasy by what he had seen. As if that was any excuse.

He’s on step five of his nine-step skincare regimen when he hears the screen door creak open and click shut. David takes his time finishing up (serum, face mask, eye cream, moisturizer) before quietly making his way up the stairs. Through the screen door, he can see Patrick sitting on the front step, shoulders hunched and heavy. He’s never been good with other people’s raw emotion and pain, but the last few years in a town full of dull but normal human beings (and no money for the kind of pills that would dampen those feelings down) have taught him more than a decade of therapy ever could. And he’s in a town now, staying with a family of normal human beings who care for each other and fill their house with pictures of their son instead of expensive art. So.

What would Marcy Brewer do?

Marcy Brewer would make tea and go out to talk him through it, not skulk back down to the basement and pretend he didn’t see anything.

And so he tiptoes into the kitchen, makes two mugs of tea, and manages to get them both back downstairs and out the door without spilling scalding water all over himself. Patrick sits quietly, staring out into the dark yard, the only sound the distant thumping of mediocre music from a house party down the street. 

“Hey,” he says softly, lowering himself carefully onto the step beside Patrick and offering up a mug. Patrick hesitates a moment before reaching for it, and it feels to David like a lifeline.

“You okay?”

Patrick swallows thickly. “Yeah. I’m sorry about...all that. Back there.”

“You’re not the one that needs to be apologizing.”

“I shouldn’t have gone. I know I shouldn’t have gone.”

David watches as he purses his lips together, his body rocking forward like he has too much frustration and confusion to contain.

“Why did you?” David asks at last. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t have, or that any of what happened back there was your fault, because it is absolutely not. God knows I’m the first one to go running back to a shitty ex the moment they show the slightest bit of interest. But...I just want to understand.”

Patrick shifts again, uncomfortable. He’s silent for a long moment, and David might have changed the subject if he couldn’t see Patrick’s jaw working, like he’s trying to speak but physically can’t get the words to come out. “Because I’m lonely,” he says at last, so hoarse and small that David’s heart aches for him. “I’m so fucking lonely, David.”

David takes a risk, reaching out to rest his palm on Patrick’s knee, startled when his hand comes down on top of his so fast it nearly slaps against his skin.

“I know I’m surrounded by people every day. I work with you in the store every day. And I know people in the town, and I like them. But...”

“...it’s not the same,” David finishes, nodding. He knows it’s why he went around in circles with Jake longer than he should have. It was something, someone, to do. And it wasn’t just about sex. Sometimes it was just nice to be held. “You don’t have to be lonely. We’ll go out to the bars. There’s not exactly a thriving gay community around, but it’s not like it’s a total desert.”

Patrick just shakes his head. “You don’t understand.”

When he offers up nothing else, David sighs, setting his mug to the side and turning his body to fully face Patrick, stopping just short of their knees brushing against each other. “Okay, then help me understand. Talk to me.”

Patrick looks pointedly down at the peeling wooden floorboards, the thrumming bass of the house party down the street seeming to fill up the silence and give him a chance to collect his thoughts.

“Ethan was my first. With a guy. My first kiss, first time having sex. First everything. Twenty-eight fucking years old and I’d never been with a guy. And when I told him that, on the first night that we...”

“...had sex,” David supplies, hoping to skip over any prudish embarrassment.

“Had sex,” Patrick agrees. “I could just see on his face that it was like...I wasn’t experienced. It wasn’t going to be any good. And later on, he’d frame it like a compliment, you know. Like ‘I’m so glad I stuck around, you’ve gotten so much better in bed.’ Or he’d sort of imply how...how lucky I was that I had found him. That I was too old when I came out, that no gay men wanted to sleep with someone who didn’t have much experience. Let alone no experience. But he’d been _willing_ to sleep with me, so I was...lucky. And I tried, after him. I’d go to a bar and try to meet somebody. And as soon as it was looking like things were going to...go somewhere, I’d start sort of...panicking. Like...it was going too fast and I needed to slow down a bit, but if I said anything then they’d know that I was still new at this, that I'd only been with one guy, and then they’d leave.”

Patrick runs a rough hand over his hair a few times. They can both pretend it’s out of anger and frustration and not an attempt to fight back tears.

“And so I’d try to...ignore the panic and sort of...push through it...” David makes a wounded noise, but doesn’t interrupt further, “...but it would all get too much and then I’d end up running off. And then I was so...so ashamed and frustrated and...angry with myself that eventually I just...stopped trying. Better to be alone than to be the guy with a reputation for being a scared almost-virgin that gives everyone blue balls. And then I thought maybe I’m not gay after all, maybe I’m just...confused. And I thought about just...giving everything up, going back home. But Ethan...I can’t blame him. Not entirely. I let myself be...be pulled away from my friends, from my family. I chose him over them, when he demanded it. My parents and I barely spoke for a while, even after Ethan, what could I possibly say to them?”

It’s all so heart wrenching that he gives up any semblance of staying calm and neutral and grabs Patrick around the back of the neck and pulls him against his shoulder, cradling his head, the warmth of Patrick’s skin heating the rings on his fingers. Patrick doesn’t pull away like he feared but sinks into him, lifting a hand to clutch at David’s forearm, letting himself be held.

“What he said to you was fucked up,” David lectures. “Seriously. There is no such thing as ‘too late’ to come out. Your inexperience wasn’t a downside, it was just a vulnerability, and that man is just a soul-sucking, emotional vampire who unfortunately took advantage. And I’m sorry that happened to you, Patrick. I’m so sorry. But there are plenty of men out there who wouldn’t bat an eye at being your first. Or your second. Or your third. I mean it. And I’m especially sorry that he made you feel that you can’t communicate your needs to potential partners, because that it absolute bullshit. If you need to slow down, or stop, then you have every right to tell someone that. And if they give you a hard time about it, then you should turn and run in the opposite direction because that is not a person that you should be intimate with. I fully appreciate the irony of me telling you how to choose a decent partner, but...there are people out there who will be gentle and understanding about a difficult past. Fuck, if bad past relationships were a dealbreaker, everyone would die alone.”

He feels rather than hears Patrick shudder in his arms, holding him tighter as Patrick turns his head to press it further against David’s chest. “Thank you, David.”

“Don’t thank me, it’s the truth. What you’ve just told me says everything about Ethan and nothing about you. I mean that. Patrick, there is nothing wrong with you.”

Patrick pulls away, then, under the guise of drinking his tea before it gets cold. David acts as though he can’t see him trying to discretely wipe at his eyes.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to...drag you down into my fucked up personal life,” Patrick says meekly, trying to smile, though his eyes are still distant. “Not very professional, for a business trip.”

“Please. You’ve had to listen to tales of my tragic backstory for months. Honestly, it was about time. It was exhausting, listening to stories about your cute, loving parents and happy childhood.”

He’s pleased to see a genuine smile, then, smothered behind the lip of his mug, though it quickly fades away.

“He didn’t hit me.”

David pauses, unsure of what to say. “Who, Ethan?”

Patrick nods, redness blooming around his eyes again. “He didn’t...it wasn’t like...that’s not what our relationship was. He wasn’t violent. The worst it got was like that. When we argued, he’d...back me into a corner so I couldn’t take off, hold me down. That sort of thing. It wasn’t like he ever...it wasn’t like that.”

“Patrick...” he gapes. He swallows his frustration, his urge to grab Patrick by the shoulders and shake him. _Don’t you see that you’re still making excuses for him?_ But if he’s sinking back into the habit of defending Ethan to his skeptical friends and family, confronting him would only make it worse. “There are a lot of different types of abuse.”

David watches as Patrick tenses again. “I know, but-“

“Then listen,” he says firmly. “I am sure that he fed you all sorts of lines about how you were being too sensitive, or dramatic, or _what did you expect, more aggressive fights are natural when two men are in a relationship instead of with a woman_ , but that’s bullshit. You didn’t feel belittled in that relationship because you were weak, you felt belittled because he emotionally and psychologically beat you down over the entirety of your relationship. You felt that way because he wanted you to feel that way, not because you were any less of a man who ‘couldn’t handle it.’ Him being an asshole has no bearing over your masculinity." 

Patrick looks stunned, and David waits for an angry huff, shouting, accusations that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but they don’t come. He just shakes his head and drops his head to look down into his mug. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

He makes some sort of gesture with his hand that David can’t decipher. “You know. Explain my own feelings back to me when I don’t even know what I’m feeling in the first place. Countless therapy appointments and no one has ever summed it up that...succinctly.”

“Because I’ve dated a lot of assholes. Not like that, but...I know the type.” Patrick has deflated a bit, the tension visibly draining out of him just by the relief of finally being understood, and David takes the opportunity to lean in, bumping their shoulders together. “And I know you. Probably better than I know anyone else.”

Patrick lets out a soft laugh at that, more of a release than genuine humour. “You must think I’m an idiot, for agreeing to go to dinner with him tonight.”

“Of course I don’t.”

“I just...” He presses the heel of his hand against his eye, frustrated. “I really just wish you hadn’t seen that. What you saw tonight.”

“Well, I’m glad I did.” Patrick looks so forlorn that he can’t help but nudge closer, reaching out a hand to rest on the centre of his back. Under his palm, Patrick’s shoulders sink a bit further. 

“I didn’t want you to see it because I didn’t want you to know. I never talked about him because I...I didn’t want you to treat me differently. ‘Poor, pathetic Patrick and his...his abusive ex-boyfriend. He’s damaged goods.’” He wonders if this is the first time Patrick has admitted, even to himself, just what Ethan had really done to him. “I left town to get away from all of that. Schitt’s Creek was supposed to be my fresh start, I didn’t want to take it all with me.”

“You’ve been burned. Badly,” David corrects gently. “Have we met? I’m basically the human equivalent of the inside of a roasted marshmallow. And that makes it difficult to trust people. I know it does. And it...makes you feel like maybe that’s just the type of partner you deserve, because that seems to be the only type who are interested. But it isn’t true. I’m telling you that it isn’t true. Look at Rachel, she kept coming back to you, kept wanting you, even when it wasn’t going to work out. Look at all the people in Schitt’s Creek who care about you. Maybe not Ronnie, but you know. Everyone else.”

Patrick let’s out a watery laugh at that, rubbing his nose on the back of his sleeve.

“Patrick. One shitty ex-boyfriend doesn’t change anything about who you are. As Alexis would say, better to find out who he really is now instead of a year from now. I know it feels like you’ve wasted your time being with him, but...when it comes to bad relationships, we just have to learn to be grateful that wedidn’t waste any more time than we did. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers. “Thank you, David.”

Patrick is staring at him, now, that soft, open look on his face that he’s come to know so well. David nudges forward, just like he did all that time ago, in the car in the motel parking on his birthday. This time, Patrick doesn’t look away.

He slowly reaches out to cup the back of Patrick’s neck, and then gently, so gently, pulls him in for a kiss.

It’s chaste, there’s nothing heated about this moment, but when he moves away, Patrick’s eyes are watery again.

“I shouldn’t have...” He cleared his throat. What was fucking wrong with him? Why did he always go after the wrong guy? Or the right guy at the worst possible moment? He could have done this months ago, but no, he had waited until Patrick was at his most emotional to make a move. “You’re...you’re experiencing a lot right now. You’re vulnerable, and I shouldn’t have-“

“David... I’ve wanted to do that for months. Since the moment you left me those rambling voicemails, actually.”

“‘Rambling’ might be a bit of a stretch...”

The corner of Patrick’s mouth quivers before he looks back down at his clasped hands. “I just meant...I didn’t just want to...to do that today. Now, because I’m in a bad place and just needed somebody. I’ve had feelings for you for months and I just didn’t know what to do about it. And I get it, if you just...wanted to offer me some comfort. You’re a good person, David, and everything you’ve done for me today...” He cleared his throat. “I just don’t want you to think that I’m just trying to rebound from my last relationship, or that I’m only doing this because I’m vulnerable. I’m a lot. I know I’ve got a lot of baggage. But even if you wake up tomorrow and decide you don’t want to take that on...I’ll always be grateful that you...that you made that happen for us. Even if it was just the once.”

Finally, he looks up, that wounded, wet look in his eyes again, and David reaches out again, though he plants a soft kiss on Patrick’s temple and leans close, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m glad it happened, too.”

Patrick smiles, then. A shy, beautiful smile. “I kept telling myself that I was idiot for even thinking... Every time I thought you might be interested…Your birthday, when we went to dinner at the café. I wanted to kiss you so badly, but I just thought…who was I kidding? You've dated a lot of people, you could have anybody. You would never want someone like me.”

“I’ve always wanted you.”

Patrick turns, just enough so that David can feel his shuddering breath against his neck. It makes his heart flutter. "Yeah?"

"Definitely. When you did Caberet and you were up there thrusting around on stage in your little suspenders? I almost passed out." 

That gets an audible laugh, and he's pleased with himself for it. 

He isn’t sure how long they sit there, but the thudding bass from the house party across the street trails off, replaced by the first strains of ‘Loverboy’ that David can recognize deep in his bones.

“Oh my god, finally something decent.” Then, for good measure, because Patrick is almost certainly unaware despite him adding at least one song to every playlist they have at the store, “this is Mariah Carey.”

He feels Patrick’s lips curl against his neck. “You’re my Mariah Carey.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, cheek falling softly against the top of Patrick’s head. “‘Kay. That compliment could bring me to tears, but I’m not going to let it.”

“I wish you would. I’ve been blubbering all night, it would be nice if you did, too, so I wouldn’t feel like such an idiot.”

“Blubbering? I think I saw like, one tear, and that might have just been a trick of the light. Honey, I cried more than that when Justin Timberlake flashed Janet Jackson's nipple mid-Super Bowl.”

He can feel Patrick smile again, and so he continues to rub firm circles into his back until the hiccuping, uneven breaths calm.

He wishes he was better at this, could say something witty and charming to make Patrick laugh, to soothe his aching heart, but he’s never been good at human connection. He’s spared ruining the moment by a failed attempt to try when the front door creaks open, sending him and Patrick leaping apart like they’ve been caught with their tongues down one another’s throats instead of just cuddling on the front step.

“Oh. I’m sorry to interrupt.”

“You’re not-“

“-Didn’t interrupt anything.”

If the sloppy, simultaneous answer makes Marcy suspicious, she doesn’t say anything. “I just realized that I left my handbag in the car. I didn’t hear you two come home. How was dinner, how did the meeting go?”

“Dinner was fine,” Patrick says tightly, and David can see the lines forming on Marcy’s forehead as her brow furrows.

“The meeting actually went really well,” David distracts. “I think this vendor might actually consider an exclusive deal, which would be amazing. Since the motels have taken off, we’re constantly scrambling for local suppliers that can fill large-scale orders. So if we can secure her, I think it would be a dream.”

Marcy smiles hesitantly, eyes still flickering to Patrick. A mother’s intuition, he supposes. She knows something is wrong, that Patrick is uneasy. David isn’t about to be the one to tell her that Patrick didn’t go to that business dinner with Marissa.

Patrick clears his throat, shifting uncertainly and then rising to his feet. “S’late. I should probably get to bed.” HIs expression softens, just a bit. “Thanks for the tea, David.”

And he’s gone, leaving Marcy and David alone on the doorstep, Marcy too afraid to ask and David too afraid to tell.

“I should…get my purse.”

“Yeah. Yup.” David rises to his feet, taking his own half-empty mug of tea, now cold and bitter. “Goodnight, Marcy.”

* * *

When David makes his way upstairs, the early-riser Brewers are already long up, clustered around the kitchen table and speaking in hushed tones. It’s only when they notice David’s presence in the doorway that they fall silent. Patrick turns in his chair, and David has to swallow back a gasp: Patrick’s jaw is framed with several dark, splotchy bruises. Undeniably fingertips. 

He doesn’t want to ignore the bruises and act as though the abuse didn’t happen, Patrick has had to live with the silence of it for far too long, but he also doesn’t want to make Patrick uncomfortable in front of his parents. But given Clint’s grave expression and Marcy’s watery eyes, he suspects they’re long past ignoring it. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, dropping his gaze, his hand unconsciously moving up as though to hide the bruises. “Jaw’s a bit sore, but...”

“How’s your head?”

“What happened to your head?” Marcy asks shakily, reaching out to squeeze his forearm. He’s afraid he’s fucked up, the way Patrick’s shoulders slump, but he only shakes his head.

“Just got a bit of a bump last night, where I...when I hit the wall. I got a scrape, it’s not serious. Really, it’s not,” he says, trying to placate his mother. “I think...I think I might go take a shower. I’ll...be back.”

Patrick pauses on his way out the door, just a moment near David. Before he can scurry off, David reaches out to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly, an act that brings a shaky breath out of Patrick before he slips away down the hall.

Leaving David alone with Marcy and Clint.

“I’m...um. I’m going to grab some coffee,” he says awkwardly, shuffling over to the ancient-looking pot, thankfully still steaming.

“David, we want to thank you,” Clint says hoarsely, startling him so badly he nearly drops his mug to the floor. “Patrick told us that...that you interfered last night, with Ethan. That he told you to go home and you wouldn’t leave him alone. So. We just want to thank you.”

David nods. “You don’t have to thank me. I wasn’t about to leave him alone in that situation.”

Marcy nods, teary-eyed. “We just worry about him. We were...we were never upset about Patrick being gay, that never mattered to us, but Ethan just...”

“Something wasn’t right,” Clint acknowledged. “We’d met him before, when we thought he and Patrick were just friends, and we didn’t even like him then. But we...Patrick had just told us that he was gay. And we...we didn’t really know what a relationship between two men looked like, we thought...”

“We thought we maybe were being too sensitive. Or ignorant, expecting Ethan to act like the way Rachel did,” Marcy finishes. “We just didn’t want to hurt him.”

“And so we said nothing and let him be hurt,” Clint adds, voice thick. “We knew he was pulling away from us, and we were afraid of saying something that might...make us lose him altogether. We didn’t know just how bad it was until this morning. We just thought that he wasn’t a nice guy, we didn’t know...”

David gives them a nervous smile, coming to join them at the small breakfast table. “Look, I’m the furthest thing to a relationship expert. I’ve dated far too many losers to count. But I can say with total confidence that what happened with Ethan, what happened last night, was not your fault. You all were in an impossibly difficult circumstance. Patrick had a bad first experience, and while that’s heartbreaking...he’s still here. He has parents who support him and...and friends who intervene when things get bad. What matters is that he got out before something really awful happened.”

Marcy wipes away the tears that have gathered in her eyes, nodding.

“I have no idea how he ended up having anything to do with me, honestly. But still, with the exception of me, he’s built...he’s built a really wonderful life for himself in Schitt’s Creek. And I promise you that if someone there was hurting him, they would have a long, long line of people to answer to, because Schitt’s Creek has like twenty people living there and everyone is like, far, far too involved in everyone else’s business to not know if something was going on. Really, you don’t have to worry about him. Not like that, not anymore.”

Marcy nods again, reaching out to gently pat his cheek. “Thank you. You’re a sweet boy, David.”

He nearly blushes. “Can definitely say I’ve never gotten that, before.”

“We’ve never seen Patrick happier. When he calls us, he always has so much to say. About the store, about the town. About you,” Clint tells him. “That’s all we want for him. To be happy.”

“I think he is happy,” David responds. “Or at least is getting there. What he’s done with the store...I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without him.”

“We’re sorry,” Marcy says softly. “If we were a bit...cold to you, at first. Patrick just talked about you all the time, and we weren’t sure if you two were...you know. And after Ethan-“

“I get it,” he soothes. “It’s fine. Patrick and I really are just business partners, though. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly a subtle person. Bad at hiding things.” He says it as a joke, but bother Clint and Marcy wear such soft expressions that he grows uncomfortable. They can’t possibly know, can they, that he and Patrick kissed last night? Could they already sense that something had shifted between them? Maybe he has even less subtlety than he thought. “He really loves you both, you know. So much. I think it ate him up inside, thinking that you didn’t...approve of him.”

“We’ve always approved of him,” Marcy replies gently. “We’ve never cared about Patrick being gay, or any of his decisions since he’s moved to Schitt’s Creek. We’ve only ever wanted him to be happy.”

Clint nods, leaning over to rest a warm, heavy hand on David’s shoulder. “We’re so glad he met you, David.”

* * *

As he rounds the corner, he ends up nearly toppling over Patrick, dressed in his standard blue button-up. His face is still a bit flushed from the heat, which serves to lessen the look of the bruises on his face, at least temporarily.

“Hey.”

Patrick smiled shyly. “Hi.”

They both shift awkwardly, nervous, until Patrick looks up and meets his gaze with a little half-laugh, and David lets himself melt forward, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” Patrick pauses, his eyes again dropping to the floor. “David, I...I know the timing’s bad, and that I’m a lot to take on, but when you kissed me yesterday...I’ve been wanting that for a long time. And I didn’t think I’d ever...meet someone that I could trust like I trust you, after Ethan. So if it was just about...feeling bad for me, or-“

“It wasn’t,” he promises. “I’ve been wanting to it for a long time, too. And this is...new for me, too. I mean, I’ve kissed like a thousand people before. But nobody that I cared about. Or respected. Or thought was...nice. And I can’t lie and say that I’m not nervous about this at all, but. I want this to work.”

“I’ll make this work,” Patrick vows. “We’ll make it work. If you can have a bit of patience with me...give me a chance, David. Please. I don’t want what you saw last night to scare you off. Please.”

“Shh,” he soothes, pulling Patrick into his arms. “Of course it won’t. I mean, it did scare me a bit, but it made me realize that maybe some of the...hesitancy I sensed before wasn’t because you weren’t interested.”

“Oh, I was definitely interested,” Patrick murmurs, his own arms coming tight around David’s waist. They sway for a long moment, listening intently for any sign that Patrick’s parents might come around the corner and find them there. Something clatters in the kitchen, and they spring apart. It feels too new, too fragile, to tell anyone about them just yet. Especially after what happened last night. 

“Can we maybe...talk on the drive back to Schitt’s Creek?”

“We can talk whenever you’d like.”

The look of gratitude on Patrick’s face is so unfiltered that it takes everything he has not to kiss him right then and there.

* * *

As they’re pulling their shoes on, Marcy hands Patrick a casserole dish full of lasagna to take home with him and then, incredibly, hands one to David, as well.

“Oh my god, adopt me. I’m not even joking, I will send you the paperwork,” David coos as he bends down to kiss Marcy’s cheek. It’s surprising how quickly this easy affection has come, he thinks, as he’s passed from Marcy to Clint, who pulls him in for a restrained but still fond hug.

He shoulders his bag and goes to the door, but stops as Marcy asks if they could speak with Patrick for one more moment.

David takes the hint, plucking the keys from Patrick’s hands and letting himself out with one last farewell, packing his bag into the trunk and then climbing into the passenger seat, lasagna resting carefully in his lap.

He scrolls through his phone until he hears the crunch of Patrick’s feet on the gravel as he rounds the car, stopping briefly to toss his bag into the back.

The door opens, and Patrick drops into the driver’s seat, eyes a bit red and puffy, though his expression is relaxed.

“You okay?” David asks softly, watching Patrick methodically buckle his seatbelt and start the car, looking everywhere but at David.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “They, uh…said that they were sorry. If I ever thought that they weren’t okay with me being gay. They just didn’t feel like Ethan treated me well, but didn’t want to say something to upset me.”

David can feel the peace radiating off of him. You can’t fake the kind of joy that comes with acceptance, David knows that all too well. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah. And…among other things, they said that they...like you. Really like you. And that I was welcome to bring you home with me any time. I told them we weren’t...together, but. They said they know, but the offer still stands.”

David feels the tightness in his chest lift altogether as he watches Patrick’s overwhelmed processing of what's just occurred. “Well. Guess their general reluctance to embrace your personal life had nothing to do with you dating men, after all.”

Patrick turns to look at him, then, a familiar smile twitching on his lips. “No. No, I guess not. And maybe next time I do bring you home to my parents, it...won’t be as my business partner. Just my business partner.”

His instinct is to play coy, run away from the promise of something more, something that has the potential to hurt him. But Patrick has basically ripped his heart open this trip, has laid it all out in the open, and David can’t quite bring himself to be the one to shut down. “I think...I’d really like that.”

* * *

Given both their histories, they decide to start slow. 

But it's difficult, when it feels like they've been building to this inevitable conclusion for the past two years. 

Everything that had ever been an issue in his past relationships had somehow been exactly what Patrick wanted. He had a sordid and lengthy dating history, which Patrick had told him was a relief, knowing that he had seen it all and his own insecurities and lack of experience wouldn’t turn David off. David was horrible at schooling his expressions or faking enthusiasm, and while that had caused problems while attending his exes’ shitty art shows and one-man plays, Patrick was grateful to always know where he stood (he had shared, once, that his ex never had any complaints during sex but would humiliate him during arguments by telling him how bad he was in bed. David can attest that this is very much not the case). David’s flair for dramatics and overreaction seems only to amuse Patrick, and his defensive reliance on sarcasm is met blow by blow with equally snarky remarks. And quite honestly, David thinks his need for reassurance and comfort is a plus, too, because Patrick doesn’t mind giving him those things when he knows he frequently needs that sort of comfort, himself.

For two people as damaged as they are, their relationship should have imploded long ago. But somehow all the broken, jagged little pieces of themselves have fit together perfectly, as disgustingly trite as that is.

That isn’t to say it’s always been easy.

David’s attempts to get him to experiment with a flirty customer had sent David into a panic and Patrick into a self-conscious spiral, with David relieved he didn’t go through with it and Patrick desperately needing reassurance that David wasn’t trying to pawn him off on some other guy to ease the blow of a break-up. 

And despite fuck-ups like this, David tends to be a chronic over-communicator, while getting Patrick to open up could often feel like he's one of those birds trying to crack open a clamshell on the pavement. Until, that is, Patrick informs him that asking for anything from his ex had always been twisted into a criticism, and so he had learned not to say anything at all in the hopes of keeping the peace. Reassured that David actually wants to hear his opinion (though in the case of lip-balm location in the store, it may be received but ignored), he’s started to slowly follow David’s lead. And when their relationship gets stronger for it (and the sex gets even better), it only gets easier to ask for what he needs.

What David is most surprised about is that their relationship doesn’t really change much at all. They’re having sex now, which is a wonderful addition, but besides some added intimacy, there isn’t much between them that’s different. Transitioning from friends into something more had been nearly seamless, a natural conclusion to what they'd bother been wanting badly but were too afraid to admit it. 

He isn’t sure what he expected, but then again, he’s never dated a friend before. Had never really had friends _to_ date before. Stevie didn’t really count, as what they had barely constituted a relationship. But Patrick is still Patrick. He still taunts David about his uptight tendencies, still wears his ugly like mountaineering shoes, still changes the music playlist in the store every time David runs to the café for coffee so he’s assaulted by the crooning of generic indie singer-songwriters the moment he steps in the door.

He wouldn’t change a thing. Except maybe for the shoes. They’re really fucking ugly.

* * *

If he’s annoyed that a relatively small group of people couldn’t manage to yell ‘surprise’ at anything close to simultaneously (and he is very much annoyed), those feelings fade at the look of fear-then-shock-then-confusion-then-joy that floods across Patrick’s face.

“What-oh my god!”

David steps forward excitedly, dodging Patrick’s habitual turn to kiss him and instead pulling him into a tight hug. “Happy birthday, Patrick.”

“But...surprise parties are tacky.”

The happy, dazed look on his face is so horrendously endearing that it takes physical effort not to kiss him. “Mmhm, they most certainly are. But _you’ve_ always wanted one, so I did my best.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, pulling away enough to catch sight of his parents hovering nearby.

“I thought you guys were out of town?!” He’s like a puppy, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet at the sight of the party, the people there just for him.

“We are,” Clint says with a shrug as they all laugh, waiting his turn while Marcy squeezes Patrick tightly before passing their son over. Clint pulls him in with a clap to the back, the kind of easy, unthinking familial affection that is totally foreign to David.

“Happy birthday, Button!” Alexis dives in next for a hug, giving a smug little look at David when Patrick beams at the sight of her.

“Please don’t tell me you came all the way from New York for this.”

She flips her hair and gives him a pout. “I mean, technically no, I had a premiere in Toronto. But I had to swing by, I couldn’t miss your very first surprise party!” She reaches out to boop him on the nose.

The crowd has turned their attention to the food and drinks, and before David can plead with them again to eat the crab cakes, Patrick is pulling him in again for a tight embrace, and David can feel his lips brush against his neck, just briefly, as they move together.

“I haven’t told your parents. About us,” he whispers frantically, as quietly as he can with the Brewers only standing a few feet away.

“I want them to know,” Patrick murmurs in his ear, and then he’s wrapping a firm hand around the back of David’s head and pulling him in for a kiss.

They’ve been together for months, now, and it’s officially the longest relationship he’s ever had. He’d tried to reassure Patrick that he didn’t need to rush into telling his parents about them, that given his last relationship and his confusion between their dislike of Ethan and their feelings about him being gay, he understood wanting to take things slow, but Patrick had only shaken his head. “ _They just love you so much, David,”_ he’d said. _“I just want to make sure we’ve got our feet under us, first. If they knew about us and then we broke up...they’d be devastated.”_

The kiss is chaste, but it lingers, and they break apart when someone (definitely Roland) wolf-whistles at the rather tame display.

David must be beet-red, but when he works up the courage to look over, Marcy and Clint are beaming at him. He’s so relieved his knees nearly buckle.

Patrick, for his part, is unfazed, shaking his head and wrapping his arm around his mother like nothing happened. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“We’re just so glad to be included,” Marcy tells him, looking at David with such a soft expression that it makes his heart ache. Glad to be intentionally brought into Patrick’s life by his boyfriend instead of constantly pushed away, to be so wanted that they have their accommodations organized and a welcome basket from the shop placed in their room upon their arrival.

David makes the rounds later with a tray of crab cakes, pushing them on anyone he passes. He catches sight of Patrick and his parents at one of the booths, laughing and catching up, and before he can slip away to leave them in peace, Patrick catches his eye and waves him over. A bit embarrassed, he sets the tray down on the table and slides into the cracked vinyl seat, blushing as Patrick’s arm instinctively wraps around his shoulders.

“We were just talking about what an incredible job you’ve done with all of this,” Patrick tells him, thumb rubbing circles into David’s shoulder.

“Mm. Well, that almost makes up for the fact that no one is eating the crab cakes.”

The Brewers all laugh at that, but there’s no mistaking it for laughing at him. They know David, they know that he’s finicky and demanding and particular, and they still approve of him. Still are pleased that Patrick has chosen him.

“I think the only thing more surprising than my parents being here is Alexis being here.”

David shrugs. “She does love a party. And I'm pretty sure she likes you better than me. Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you that my parents are sorry that they couldn’t make it. But my dad texted asking me to ‘tell papyrus happy birthday for us,” so I assume that’s an autocorrect fail meant for you and not my high school history tutor.”

“Your high school tutor’s name was Papyrus?”

“His parents were egyptologists.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I hope Stevie wasn’t too mean to you at the front desk of the motel. I’d like to say she just thinks she’s a big-shot now with the motel expanding, but she’s always like that.”

Clint grins, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that’s so like Patrick. “No no, she was excellent. She knew exactly who we were when we showed up, it was all arranged.”

Marcy nods. “We can’t thank you enough for setting up everything. You really didn’t have to go through all the effort.”

“It’s nothing, believe me. It’s a shame you didn’t meet me ten years ago, I could have pulled a lot better favours than a room at a roadside motel.”

“If this is still when you were associating with people named Papyrus, I think our paths crossed at the right time,” Patrick smirked, tugging gently at the hair on the nape of his neck.

“Mm. Unless you’re really into candy ravers with asymmetrical haircuts, I think you’re probably right.”

Patrick’s face is so open and soft and happy that he can’t help but acknowledge that all of the stress of arranging the party and hiding it all the while had been completely and totally worth it. And he’s looking at David so adoringly that it’s nearly enough to make him blush, squirm at the attention he’s receiving in front of Marcy and Clint.

“I’m really not going to be able to top this. Your birthday is going to be such a let-down.”

It took some time, before David stopped shushing Patrick’s every mention of their future together. Before plans for weeks, months in the future stopped feeling like potentials to jinx their happiness.

“Forget about my birthday, worry about your next birthday. _I’m_ not going to be able to top this.” There. He said it. Acknowledged that he could see them together a year from now. Desperately hoped they would be.

Patrick only smiles. “Well. You’ve got a whole year to start planning.”

Later, when most of the party-goers have gone home and there’s just a few couples left on the makeshift dance floor, Patrick rests his head on David’s shoulder and lets out a long breath. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he murmurs back. It’s getting easier each time. “Happy birthday, baby.”

He can feel the upturn of Patrick’s lips against his neck. “My parents can’t stop talking about you, you know. What an amazing job you did. How glad they were to be invited. How you were very stressed about pulling this off but still managed to smooth everything over.”

He winces. Patrick’s parents seeing him in a panic wasn’t exactly the image he wanted to portray. “Mm. Not my finest moment. But maybe if he wasn’t such a dickhead, I might’ve thanked Ethan for setting the bar so fucking low for all future boyfriends.”

“Or you’ve just set the bar so high for all future boyfriends that I might as well just save everyone the disappointment and quit while I’m ahead.”

They hadn’t yet dared to utter the word “forever.” David has never wanted it more.

“I think they liked seeing you flustered,” Patrick continues. “Ethan was really smooth and suave until he wasn’t. I think it’s...comforting, in a way. To see you under pressure and know that you getting a bit snippy with people was the worst it got.”

“Okay, I wasn’t snippy. I was reasonably irritated that a relatively small group of people couldn’t shout ‘Happy Birthday’ in unison.”

“They like you, David,” Patrick states plainly, ignoring his rambling defence. “They have since they met you.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he says weakly. He has never in his life been the guy that anyone wants to bring home to their parents. He’s barely been the guy that people want to bring home at all, when a quick fuck in a club’s bathroom stall will do.

“You’re so good to me,” Patrick murmurs, melting a bit further against him as the song changes, something even softer and slower than before.

“I’m really not,” he jokes weakly, trying to keep himself from letting loose tears. “Like I said, you and your parents just have a very low bar.”

Patrick’s hands squeeze his waist. “There’s a big difference between them genuinely loving you and them just being glad that you don’t leave bruises on me.”

“Do hickies count as bruises? If so, I’ve failed that test.”

That finally gets a laugh out of him. “Well, we’ll just keep that piece of information to ourselves.”

There’s a warm hand on his shoulder, and David turns to face Clint and Marcy, their expressions tender, drained from the travel and wine. “We just wanted to let you know we’re heading back to the motel. Made a valiant effort, but we’re turning in.”

Patrick breaks away from him to wrap his arms around his mother, then his father. “Thanks for coming. It really means a lot.”

“Of course,” Clint reaffirms. “Still on for breakfast tomorrow?” With Patrick it’s a given, but they all turn to look at David, too, and he feels his heart quicken.

“Yeah. Yes, of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Clint shakes his hand, and Marcy pulls him into a firm embrace, like they’ve done this a thousand times, like they know each other far better than they do. Perhaps that’s just a Brewer trait, taking in strays.

“Happy birthday, Patrick” she murmurs, and then looks at them both, smiling softly and shaking her head. “Good night. Sweet boys.”

They walk them out, arms slung around each other's waists as they watch Marcy and Clint make their way back to the motel, hand-in-hand. David can't help but think, despite their wildly different personalities, how similar his own parents are to Patrick's. Against all odds, both of their parents support one another, care for one another, have dedicated their lives to one another. There's a deep-rooted care and respect that David sees when he watches his dad help his mom with her wig spreadsheet, or when his mom drags his father down a red carpet. The same kind of life-long love he sees in the Brewers. 

And despite their own difficult pasts and broken hearts, David knows that he and Patrick have good role models. That whatever baggage they're dealing with, they _want_ to treat one another well. Are beginning to trust that they'll be treated well in return. 

He has hope. 


End file.
